


The Letter

by debirlfan



Category: Airwolf
Genre: Gen, post episode
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:53:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26922430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/debirlfan/pseuds/debirlfan
Summary: Epilogue post "Fallen Angel"
Kudos: 5





	The Letter

**Author's Note:**

> This was written close to twenty years ago, and was posted on an Airwolf fan site that is long defunct. This is similar to a story I've had posted here, but this goes in a bit of a different direction.

It was their second trip back from East Germany in as many weeks. For Michael, despite Airwolf's speed, the trip stretched interminably long. During the first return trip, Briggs had fallen into an exhausted slumber soon after they cleared German airspace. Now, he wished he could sleep. Anything to pass the time.

For the first thousand miles, Dominic had tried to keep the mood light, but now Dom was dozing. Undoubtedly, the flying had only aggravated the injury to his back, and Michael certainly didn't begrudge him the rest. Given the pain he must be in, it was a wonder Santini could find it within himself to joke around at all.

After Dom fell asleep, Caitlin had tried to continue the lighthearted banter, but she lacked the quick, caustic wit of the Italian. Finally, she had given up, turning her attention back to the unfamiliar controls. As they flew across the ocean, the silence descended like a veil, lifting only when String interrupted to ask Cait a question or give a command.

As they neared the California coast, Hawke finally spoke, glancing over his shoulder. "Michael, I need a favor."

While he might claim otherwise, Briggs knew that whatever String asked would not be unreasonable. Nothing that Hawke could request would begin to repay him for flying Airwolf into East Germany -- twice. "What's that?"

"I'd like you to look after Tet for a few days. I'm going to bunk at Dom's until he's back on his feet."

Awakened by the voices over the intercom, Dom started to protest. He caught the look String gave him and let his objection die unvoiced.

Located behind them at the engineering panel, Caitlin didn't catch the silent exchange between the two men. "String, if you want, I could take care of Tet."

"Sorry, Cait, we're going to need you at the hanagar," Dom answered. "Somebody's got to keep things running till I'm back in action." While Santini didn't know quite why String wanted Michael at the cabin, he understood his friend's intentions and was willing to play along.

Briggs did know what String was thinking. Hawke had undoubtedly overheard when the Firm's doctors suggested that Michael take some time off. The agent wished that he could thank Hawke for the offer, but to do so would have meant admitting that he needed the time alone. It would also have meant admitting that String knew him well enough to recognize that. Neither was an admission that he expected to make any time soon. "I thought you always claimed that mutt could take care of himself?" Briggs asked, forcing a faint chuckle. "Yeah, I suppose I could dog-sit for a few days. Assuming, of course, that you don't expect me to go out and catch fresh fish for him."

The last brought a snort from Santini. "Nah, at least Tet's got enough sense to prefer red meat."

"Don't push it, Dom." Hawke knew the remark was a gentle jab at his 'seafood and salad' diet. His mentor still brought steaks and chops to the cabin, but most of the time, he ended up feeding them to Tet. String glanced over his shoulder again. "Michael, I assume you're headed back to Thousand Oaks?"

Archangel nodded automatically before he remembered that from his position, Hawke couldn't see the gesture. "Yes, I want to drop off the serum and the files you recovered." In some ways, he dreaded returning to the Firm's headquarters. Briggs had a long, storied history with Zeus. His attempt to kill the chairman certainly wasn't going to improve their relationship, regardless of whether he had been in control of his actions. He suspected that if the Firm didn't want Kruger's brainwashing serum so badly, he would have already been scratched. Permanently. But they did want it, and that gave him the leverage he needed to salvage his career.

"Cait, I'm going to let you and Michael off at the Jetranger. You can fly him wherever he needs to go and drop him off at the cabin when he's done."

"Hawke, there's no need for that. I have no idea how long I'll be. Whenever the Committee is finished, one of my assistants will fly me up to the lake." Normally, the task would have fallen to Marella, but per Zeus' orders, she had been suspended for two weeks. While he didn't like the idea of it going onto her record, Michael privately wasn't upset by the suspension itself. Since her return following the disaster at Red Star, Marella had steadfastly refused to take even a day of vacation. At least this was one way of assuring that she finally had some time off.

"That's okay," Caitlin offered. She knew that the deputy director was still rattled by Maria's death. The beautiful East German agent had obviously once been his lover. Cait would do anything she could to help ease that pain. "It's not a problem, Michael. So long as there's a place where I can wait, I don't mind hanging around for awhile."

The remainder of the trip back to the States was uneventful, as was the short flight from the drop-off point to the Firm's headquarters at Thousand Oaks. Despite Michael's offers to find alternate transportation, Cait insisted on completing her 'assignment.' She grabbed a cup of coffee and settled into an overstuffed chair in his outer office while he went in to meet with The Committee.

The debriefing stretched on far longer than Briggs had expected and he was just a bit surprised to find Caitlin still waiting for him. She dropped the magazine she'd been thumbing back onto the coffee table -- one of Marella's anthropology journals, he noted. "Sorry that took so long. You really didn't need to wait."

"It's fine, there's nowhere that I need to be right away. Are you finished here?"

"Almost. Let me just get a few things." He disappeared into the inner office and returned several minutes later, a briefcase in one hand and his cane in the other, with what appeared to be a large black gym bag slung over his shoulder. "That should do it." Briggs closed the door behind him.

They walked out through the Firm's security checkpoints together, and Michael stowed his luggage in the back while Cait pre-flighted the helicopter. He climbed in beside her and fastened his belts, and soon she was gently banking the aircraft off toward the mountains and Hawke's cabin.

As they left the city behind them, Briggs leaned back into the seat. He sighed heavily as he stretched knotted muscles, trying to find a comfortable position.

"Michael, are you all right?" Cait glanced over at him, concern evident in her voice.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he lied, "just tired." Regardless of what he told her, he knew he was far from being all right. After two weeks as a human pin cushion, The Firm's experts had assured him that the serum was out of his bloodstream. The last chemical analysis had come back clean, his bloodwork normal. Despite that, the metallic taste still lingered in his mouth, and he felt vaguely nauseous. On the rare occasion that he slept, he woke, soaked with sweat and wracked by chills. While he wasn't about to admit it to Caitlin or anyone else, he wasn't all right. He wasn't even close.

Early in his career, Briggs had once been captured and 'interrogated' for four days. Before it was over, he had screamed until he was hoarse and coughing blood, but he had never cracked; he had never given them what they wanted. This time was different. The drugs changed everything. He could no more resist Kruger than he could the pull of gravity. On some level, he knew that -- but it didn't make it any easier to take. As far as he was concerned, both his body and his mind had betrayed him. Worse, Maria had --

_No._

He wasn't going to let himself think about her. Not yet.

Michael pulled his thoughts back to the present, aware of the occasional worried glance that Cait flicked in his direction. Even though he knew there was no choice, Briggs wished that Hawke had never brought the girl into the Airwolf equation. Based on what he knew of her background and the short time he'd spent in her company, she seemed like a really nice kid -- but she was just that, a kid. Thanks to him and Hawke, she was swimming amid a sea of hungry sharks in water that was far over her head. He prayed that Airwolf didn't eventually bite Caitlin as it had so many others.

The flight to the cabin didn't take long, even though it seemed far longer to Michael. It was less than an hour later when Cait brought the chopper gently to rest on Hawke's dock. As the rotors coasted to a stop, she hopped out and popped the door of the luggage compartment, picking up his bag.

Sensing the futility of an argument with the redhead, Briggs didn't bother protesting. He simply picked up his briefcase and followed her up the path to the cabin. The door was, as usual, unlocked. As Michael opened it, Tet appeared from somewhere and the agent gave him a quick pat as both he and the dog followed Cait inside.

Caitlin set the bag on the coffee table, not entirely sure of her next move. Given what she knew of the horror Briggs had been through, she wasn't particularly fond of the idea of leaving him alone. Yet Hawke, as she was beginning to realize, had intended just that. She decided to play it by ear. "Michael, would you like me to show you around? Or build you a fire, maybe? It can get pretty cold up here."

Archangel pulled his thoughts back from the dark corners where they were once again wandering and set the briefcase down. "Oh, no. That's all right. I've been here before, I think I can manage." He flashed her a quick, forced smile. "Tet and I will be fine. Tell Hawke that I . . . well, tell him I'll take good care of his dog."

"I'll do that." While she still had her reservations, she understood that Michael wanted his privacy. "You need anything, you just call, okay?"

"I will. Thank you for the lift . . ." Briggs understood how insane and frightening the last two weeks must have been for her, pulled so abruptly into the underground world of espionage. "And for everything else."

She nodded. "I'm just glad I could help." Stepping through the doorway, she reached back to close the door behind her.

"Cait," he called, his voice stopping her in mid-motion. Briggs chose his words carefully. "Cait, let me give you a piece of advice. Forget about it. All of it. Airwolf. Hawke. The Firm. Everything. Forget about it and go back to Texas. Go back to flying for the Highway Patrol."

For a moment, she considered it. Somehow, she knew that he was speaking more as a friend than as a senior government agent hiding a military secret. It didn't really matter. "I'm sorry, Michael. I don't think I can." With that, she excused herself, and Briggs stood at the window, watching until the Santini Air helicopter had taken off, banking away toward the south.

With Cait's departure, the silence settled heavily over the cabin. After putting out fresh water and dry dog food, Briggs crossed the kitchen and opened the freezer door, digging through the wrapped and marked packages until he came to one labeled as steak. He took the package out and left it to defrost; while Michael had little appetite, he would make sure that Tet ate well until String's return. It was the only way he had of showing Hawke his appreciation.

That chore finished, the agent took off his jacket and vest, folding them over the back of one of Hawke's living room chairs. He loosened his collar, then pulled his tie free and deposited it beside the jacket. His rosewood cane joined the excess clothing; alone, he seldom carried it. It was, in many ways, nothing more than a costume prop. He didn't really need it, but the elegant walking stick helped to steer unwanted attention away from his uneven gait. With no audience but String's blue tick hound, Briggs didn't bother to try and hide the limp as he brought in a few chunks of wood from the porch and started a fire in the fireplace.

Blaze lit, he rummaged the bar for a glass and a bottle of wine. Michael knew he shouldn't be drinking, especially not on an empty stomach, but he still didn't feel like eating. Wineglass in hand, he returned to the chair where he had hung his jacket. He collapsed wearily into it, propping his aching leg on the ottoman. As if sensing the agent's mood, the usually reclusive Tet circled and laid at his feet.

His briefcase waited, stuffed with over two weeks' worth of paperwork that had collected untouched since before he had left on his first trip into East Germany. Briggs looked over at the case, debating. The paperwork could wait a little longer. There were other matters that had to be dealt with -- ended -- first. Slowly, with a certain reluctance, he reached behind him and pulled the pale lavender envelope from the pocket of his jacket.

Almost by reflex, he brought the envelope up, worn paper barely brushing his moustache as he inhaled deeply. It was still there, the faint trace of lilac that brought a flood of memories, and took him back across the years to a train station in Stockholm.

******************************

  
It had begun simply enough. One of the Firm's trusted contacts had turned out to be a double agent. Actually, the problem was far worse than just the discovery of a double agent; the man known by the Firm as Martin Morrison and known by the KGB as Ivan Demetriovitch was, in reality neither. While he answered to a number of names, he worked for the highest bidder, and ultimately, himself. Playing a high-stakes game of cross and double-cross, he had managed to learn the darkest secrets of both sides. Then, he took off, with documents and data that could bring both agencies to their knees. "Morrison" and the files he carried were far too dangerous to ignore. Both sides went after him, and both sides sent their very best.

The West sent Michael Coldsmith-Briggs the Third, a young, but talented agent codenamed "Archangel." The East sent Maria Von Furster, equally young and talented. The two tracked their elusive quarry across Europe, following the same leads and crossing one another's paths. After four long, trying days of chasing their tails, they decided to combine resources and share notes. After the fifth day, they shared a bed.

The hunt went on for two exasperating, wonderful weeks. The trail led across Britain, Belgium, Denmark. Finally, it ended on a deserted dead-end street on the wrong side of Stockholm. Dark red blood stained the newly fallen snow, and Briggs was never sure whether it was his shot or Maria's that brought the case to a close.

That night, by unspoken agreement, they sat together on a bearskin rug before the fireplace, feeding the unread documents to the flames. This time, neither side would claim victory. By the same token, neither side would lose. The fire was impartial, it fed just as eagerly on both sides' secrets. As the last bits of paper charred into oblivion, Michael and Maria made love one last time.

In the morning, Briggs asked her to defect to the States. She laughed, and suggested that he defect to Germany. They both knew that it was impossible. Their respective ties were too strong, an it simply wasn't meant to be. In another place and time, they might have had a chance. With a final kiss, they parted at the train station; Michael headed West, Maria East. He never expected to see her again.

The intelligence community has its own grapevine, and over the years, Briggs kept track of Maria. He knew of her romantic involvement with her superior, Kruger. She had freely admitted to that relationship during the two-week affair in Europe. Perhaps it had been partly that alliance that had propelled her so rapidly through the usually male-dominated ranks of East German intelligence. In any case, Maria had done well for herself. Michael sometimes wondered if she still remembered him, and if she tracked his career the way he tracked hers.

The answer to that question didn't come until many years later. A little more than a month after the destruction at Red Star, Gabrielle made her usual evening visit to Winterhaven, bringing him his mail and the latest news and gossip from Knightsbridge. As he flipped through the day's assortment of bills and circulars, the familiar fragrance of Maria's perfume assaulted him. He knew, even before he found the lavender envelope with the elegant handwriting.

Somehow, he got Gabrielle out of the hospital room. Later, he would have no idea what he had said to her, or what ridiculous errand he had sent her on.

There was no return address on the envelope, just his own name and address in the elaborately scripted handwriting he recognized from long ago. He opened it, carefully, slitting the seam and easing out the note inside. One slip of folded lilac paper that matched the scent of her perfume. Fighting to keep his hands steady, he unfolded the note. There was no signature, only four short words.

_*I'm sorry, my love.*_

For him, those four words said everything that needed to be said.

  
******************************

  
_*I'm sorry, my love.*_

He read the words again, unconsciously fingering the paper as if he might draw her essence from it. That simple note had given him strength, it had kept him going when he was ready to throw in the towel. It had been a symbol, a sign from Maria that despite the years and the differences in politics, he was still in her thoughts.

Almost a year after she'd written the note, one of the Firm's sources had reported the rumors of Kruger's death. Briggs worried, wondering how the death of her superior would affect Maria. A day later, details had surfaced, suggesting that she was on the KGB White List. Given the nature of her relationship with Kruger, it was all too believable, and it fit too closely into Michael's fears.

In retrospect, Briggs decided the trap he stepped into was probably Kinskcov's idea. Kruger wasn't cagey enough to put it together, and Michael couldn't bring himself to believe Maria might have planned it. While she had used him -- had almost killed him -- that didn't matter. Regardless of what she had done, he still loved her. He knew a part of him always would.

Rising from his seat with Maria's note still clutched in his hand, Briggs shook off the stiffness that had settled into his leg. It was that stiffness that made him realize how long he had been sitting, and how dark it had grown outside. It was, he knew, time to bury the past. Awkwardly, favoring his bad leg, Michael knelt before the fireplace. He allowed himself one last breath of lilac, hoping to burn the scent forever in his memory.

*I'm sorry, too, Maria.*

With that thought, he dropped the fold of paper into the fire.

The paper had landed atop a log and it took a moment for the fire to find it. Finally, the flames began to lick at its edges, and Michael watched silently as the paper caught. The blaze crept slowly inward, until finally only the words were left.

_*I'm sorry, my love.*_

A second later, they too, were gone.


End file.
